


Five Times Schuldig Influenced Crawford's Mind

by Daegaer



Series: For Art's Sake [21]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Art, Artists, London, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-11 21:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2083422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Schuldig gets under Crawford's skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Schuldig Influenced Crawford's Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the summer 2014 Weiss vs Saiyuki Battle.

The expedition to do sketching on Hampstead Heath has become a picnic. It's far too hot to do serious work anyway, and both Miss Lin and I have abandoned the effort.

She sits neatly, her eyes shaded by her wide-brimmed hat, watching other picnickers as if deciding what monstrosities to subject them to in her next work. Schuldig sprawls back beside me, resting on his elbows, his face pink in the sun. Without looking, he wraps his fingers around mine.

I sit in the hot sun, unable to move, caught in torpor and a light grip that seems utterly unbreakable.

 

* * *

 

"You should tell everyone about the commissions," Schuldig says. He doesn't seem to think he's said anything wrong.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You're a good painter, aren't you? Maybe you'd get more work if you'd fucking sign them."

"Maybe I should have cards printed too: _Bradley Crawford, Pornographer_ , is that your next suggestion? Honestly, Schuldig."

"It's honest work," he has the temerity to say. Then he grins so widely that I feel my scowl threatening to thaw at least a little. "Come on, Crawford, at least let _some_ people know. Don't you think they're good paintings?"

God help me, I do.

 

* * *

 

"This is very rough coffee," Schuldig says, making a face as he empties his cup. "You're not buying a good quality."

"I find it drinkable."

"And you're running out of chutneys and pickles - we need to go grocery shopping!"

"Do we?" I say. "I thought you didn't want me to buy you -"

"It's for your own good," he says. "You buy rubbish by yourself, and anyway, don't you _like_ sharing with me?"

His face is solemn, almost angelic, a little hurt. I feel like applauding such manipulation, and then he smiles. I sigh and reach for my wallet.

"Fortnum & Masons?"

 

* * *

 

I peer over my sketches at Schuldig in exasperation. Never have I known him so slow to understand what is required from a pose.

"Like this?" he says, sitting cross-legged.

"No," I snap. "Don't lean over so much!" He sits in a bizarre way and I put the pencil down.

"Oh, just come here and show me what the fuck you want," he grumbles, glaring at me.

I stalk over and physically rearrange him; he sits perfectly, my hands on his sun-warmed hip and chest.

"Not so hard," he murmurs, smiling slyly. "Was it?"

I retreat, back to my pencil.

 

* * *

 

I'm content to sit silently, letting the others of the Rosenkreuz group discuss art and politics. I merely listen, watching the smoke of our cigarettes gather overhead, and sipping my drink. If I joined in I would no doubt be as agitated as everyone, and that would mean I would earn Schuldig's ire; he is currently leaning against me, a growing weight as he falls asleep.

"He's comfortable with you," Miss Lin says.

"I'm too soft-hearted to move him."

"Not quite what I meant," she smiles.

He looks so innocent in sleep; I will protect him against waking too soon.


End file.
